Roger's Angel
by Lleu
Summary: Years after Angels in the Outfield, Roger Bowman struggles to be the father he wished he'd always had.


Roger had stopped pretending he had a 9-5 job. The 45-minute commute home was all the break he got, and then he was locked in his study. One monitor streamed baseball. Spreadsheets and tables filled the other. His fascination with baseball had blossomed to an interest in baseball statistics, which had led to what many would call a good job as an actuary for a pharmaceutical company.

Pain grew behind his eyes, and the numbers on the screen lost focus, but this report was due Monday, so he fought through the fatigue and the creeping tension in his shoulders.

Angela knocked at his door. "Daddy, wanna draw with me?"

Roger sighed inaudibly. _I do not have time for this_. All the same, he massaged his face into a smile, and got up to play.

He followed his daughter to her room, where large sheets of paper and boxes of crayons littered her desk. Roger contorted himself into the small chair opposite her as she produced the drawing she had been working on.

"Is that Elsa?" he said. "Maybe she has an ice castle in the background there." He began to sketch the outline of the jagged towers.

Angela giggled. "With hexagon windows, like a snowflake!" She leaned forward and dashed out several intricate little windows within Roger's outline.

He had known nothing about art before, but when it became clear Angela preferred a sketchbook to a baseball, Roger had picked up some books from the library and learned what he could. That was before his promotion, of course, when he had still had time.

By the time his wife called them for dinner, they had added an entire background for the ice princess.

"Maybe we can color it next time," Angela said on their way to wash their hands.

"You know what? I bet she would look real pretty in watercolor."

"Watercolor?" She looked up and tilted her head, thoughtful. "What's that?"

Roger laughed. It had been a long time since he'd had that wonderful feeling where everything was new

"Well how about I take you to Craft Castle this weekend, and you can see for yourself."

* * *

He didn't notice his dinner at all. He brought down a print-out of a spreadsheet and studied it, eating mechanically.

"Roger, can't you stop working for dinner, at least?" his wife said.

He grunted in response and flipped the page. He barely even understood the question.

"Roger, if you'd just put it down-" She grabbed his arm.

"Can't you see I'm working?" he yelled, yanking his arm away. "I don't care about dinner. This has to be done Monday, no excuses." He pounded the table. "Now shut up and let me work!"

He knew as soon as he said it that he had crossed a line. He saw the pain in his wife's face, the fear of _him_. Angela's shocked gasp. It was too much, too much. He grabbed his notes and fled to his study where he could shut out the world and the numbers made sense.

* * *

Much later, when he could think again, when he had talked to his wife, he knocked on Angela's door.

"Honey, can I come in?"

"I guess."

She was lying on her bed, facing away. Roger sat the door and sat beside her.

"I said some pretty mean… No, I said some _really_ mean things tonight," he said.

"Yeah."

"I need to work on dealing with stress better, but you know that even when I get frustrated and make mistakes and say mean things, I still love you, and I still love mom."

Angela sat up and leaned against the headboard of the bed. She crossed her arms. "Are you and mom getting a divorce?"

Roger blinked. "Have you been talking about that word in school?" She had certainly not heard it from him.

"Answer the question." Her childish imitation of his adult tone made him want to laugh, but he was able to hold it in.

"One fight isn't enough to ruin our marriage," Roger said. "Don't worry about that."

"I don't like it when you and mom fight."

Roger put a hand on her shoulder and gave a squeeze. "I know. I don't like it either. But I'm going to do better, okay?"

"Good." She snuggled up against his side, and he put his arm around her shoulders. "Tell me about the angels again?"

He smiled and told for perhaps the millionth time of that magical season of his life. The older he got, the harder it was even for him to believe it had happened. But he did, and in his darkest moments, he had only to remember Al's promise they were always watching, and he could bear it.

"Do you think I'll ever see an angel?" she asked when he had finished the story..

"No, I don't think you will," he said, kissing her good night. "Because you'll never need one."


End file.
